Afterchanging into it, I exit the house and drop into the warm swimming pool before starting my laps. The exercise helps me to chase away the evil and insidious thoughts, and the tiny voice telling me to run quietens. I’ve been here a month—I should run. But the desire to continue sleeping in a comfy bed, eating regular meals, and not look over my shoulder every time I risk taking a shower is strong.
In four short weeks, I’ve settled into a routine with Helen. While we’ve not discussed it, I figured out she has some kind of condition that causes tremors in her hands. She hides it well most of the time, and it doesn’t appear to affect anything else on her body. She’s more spritely than me and has a full schedule that rivals most full-time working people.
After swimming, I make quick work of showering and changing into a pair of jeans and a plain navy T-shirt. I let myself into the main house and prepare breakfast and snacks for the book club meeting this evening.
Duke trots into the kitchen one minute before Helen appears, at exactly 7 a.m., with a full face of makeup and styled hair. Today, she is rocking a black polka-dot swing skirt and a boat neck sweater. She is who I want to be when I grow up. The giant black and white great dane licks my hand in greeting, and I make a fuss over him, scratching behind his ears. His tongue lolls out of his mouth.
“You were awake early again this morning,” she observes as she slides onto the stool and opens the Chronicle I left out for her on the countertop.
I smile as I stir the scrambled eggs and push the button down on the toaster. Helen misses nothing. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“Duke is being a pain in the ass,” she declares. I arch a brow at the dog sitting next to me as he patiently waits for his breakfast.
“Are you driving your mom nuts?”
He tilts his head and widens his eyes, looking every inch the guilty party. “Can you take him for a few nights?” Helen asks.
Ah, the master manipulator. Helen is trying to battle my nightmares by giving me her giant guard dog. “I’m sure he’d rather be with you.” We’ve had this conversation several times.
“Cleo, I have a gentleman visitor calling to escort me to dinner after my book club. I’d like not to be watched by Duke as I let Henry have his wicked way with me.”
Duke huffs through his nostrils. He’s not a fan of the male kind. I can sympathize. “Fine,” I concede as I plate the granary toast onto two plates before topping both with half the scrambled eggs. The rest I tip into Duke’s bowl. He glances at the bowl, then back at me as a strand of stringy drool stretches from his mouth to the floor. I nod. “Take it.”
He tucks in with obvious pleasure. After pouring two cups of tea, I settle down next to Helen to eat my breakfast. Another way she has won my heart is by insisting I am doing her a favor by eating with her. Apparently, dining alone is sad.
I scan the newspaper. Helen is averse to much technology. There are no TVs in the house. She owns a phone and a tablet for business reasons—and shopping, of course. But other than that, we are tech free, and I love it.
“Ooh, the butcher has steak on offer. Pick up three for tomorrow’s dinner, and don’t forget to get something for yourself tonight. Henry is wining and dining me before he?—”
I hold my hand up. “I feel like this is too much information for an employee.”
She snorts. “We don’t have healthy boundaries.”
“I’m aware.”
I swallow another forkful of eggs and devour half of theslice of toast before my stomach twists. That’s enough. Seven months out, and I’m still battling with the physical effects of Gideon’s control. Deep down, I know some of it is mental, and that I’m unlikely to solve it on my own. But it’s not like I can wander into a therapist’s office with a false name and demand to be seen.
Helen finishes her breakfast, and I empty the leftovers of mine into Duke’s bowl before stacking the dishwasher.
“Anything special you want for book club tonight?” I ask as I grab a pen and notebook. I make a trip to the store on Tuesdays and Fridays.
“Do you have time to make those little red onion tartlets?”
I nod. “Of course.”
“And did you read this week’s book?”
My cheeks heat. “I did.”
She smirks. “Good, because tonight you aren’t serving us. You’re joining us.”
Oh boy.
Red Lake isa town built on generations of cattle rearing and old money from the glorious days of oil. Helen’s parents, her grandparents, and great-grandparents amassed wealth over the years, passing it down from generation to generation.
Helen bucked against the expectations of her parents and made a name for herself in high-end fashion. She told me, “There’s not much creative outlet in cattle markets, but it pays the bills.”
The town centers around a square, with the church sitting proudly in the middle. This is the heart of the community where everyone attends Sunday morning service to get theirweekly religious guidance and an update on the town’s gossip. Red Lake is too small to attract tourists, which is why, unfortunately, everyone took notice of me.
